Echoes in the Living Force
by fiesa
Summary: Oh, Luke. Ever the teacher. OneShot- Luke Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi (Rey). (We are what they grow beyond. Three Generations.)


**Echoes in the Living Force**

 _Summary: Oh, Luke. Ever the teacher. OneShot- Luke Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi (Rey). (We are what they grow beyond. Three Generations.)_

 _Warning: Introspection._

 _Set: During/after the events of Star Wars – The Last Jedi._

 _Disclaimer: Standards apply._

* * *

The midday heat is unbearable.

The harsh light of the sun – _two suns –_ casts the desert into an almost two-dimensional plane; a flimsiplast rendering of shifting dunes, scalding winds and blinding white. Endless distances; no beginning, no end. The simmering sand clings to the dust-blue sky at the horizon, a dying man clinging to the last shreds of his vac suit.

Already, he can feel the sand grinding against his skin. The sun allows for no measure of time.

Luke starts walking.

* * *

The landscape does not change.

Maybe he has been walking for hours, maybe just seconds. In the distance, a fata morgana shimmers at the horizon, he pays it no mind. He knows, from prior experience, that it is impossible to reach these kinds of illusions. Like dreams, they linger and flee as soon as one stretches out one's arm. It has been years, and still it is achingly familiar. The muted sky. The dry, unbearable heat.

Of course it would be Tatooine.

Luke thinks, warily, that he probably deserves this.

* * *

Her voice whispers through his mind, an echo, a lament.

 _Luke._

Intentionally or not, he has never hurt anyone as badly as he has hurt his own sister. And still, there she was, tired and gaunt and in pain. And she smiled at him, and joked. And forgave him, once again.

Ben did not.

Rey might, one day.

All the people he has let down –

He _definitely_ deserves this.

* * *

A krayt dragon keens in the distance – westward? Its cry echoes, shifts. There is nothing alive in this desert, though. This is a wasteland, an endless desert planet - punishment for a broken man.

Tatoo I begins its descent towards the horizon. The sky, in the distance, glows orange and red against golden dunes and red rock. It is oddly comforting. Maybe, if the night is cold enough, he will not suffer another day of these burning sands.

Maybe, it will end.

This vision. Or is it a nightmare? Do nightmares ever really end?

Luke climbs the crest of a dune and halts his trek to observe the binary sun's progress along the horizon. A thought strikes him, resonating in the emptiness within him, and he feels _something_ twist painfully.

The familiar sight never was this beautiful before.

* * *

"Kinda grows on you, doesn't she."

The voice is soft, almost nostalgic. The man stands there, at the top of the dune. He should have been visible from afar; Luke should have seen him during his hike. But there he is, as if he just emerged from the shifting, burning sands below their feet.

When he speaks, his voice is rusty and dry from his wanderings. He needs two tries.

"Who?"

"Tatooine." The man turns to look at him. He is young, with a slightly weary and weathered face framed by a red-and-blond beard and equally colored hair. There are lines of laughter and worry around his eyes, and a humorous tilt to his lips. "She grows on you, despite the heat. And the sand, of course."

The man's soft laughter is laced with something Luke cannot yet identify.

"I'm pretty sure your father didn't mean it when he said he hated her."

Maybe it is that. Maybe the mentions of Luke's father. Or the ironic smile, or the light, sand-colored, Jedi-styled tunic. Maybe it is something in the man's words; a familiar pattern, an undertone. Luke stares, incredulous.

"Master?"

The young man grins at him and it is painfully obvious. "It has been a long time, Luke Skywalker."

Luke gapes.

Obi-Wan's smile turns into a glare. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

Luke cannot help his grin, he shakes his head. "No, Master. I just never saw you this young before."

"Oh. Well." Obi-Wan's eyes sparkle. "Right back at you. You're old, Young Skywalker."

It is Luke's time to glare at Yoda's favorite nickname. "That's one of the sad consequences of life."

"Life." Obi-Wan shakes his head. "Death. Such easy concepts, aren't they? And yet, so inconceivable."

"Spare me the Jedi platitudes, Master. Lies and deception, nothing more."

It was always hard to tell whether Obi-Wan was fazed or not, but now his brows wander up his forehead so high that they almost disappear in his hair line.

"Lies and deception?"

"Tales to tell the young ones, to dazzle them, to justify stringing them along. To excuse ourselves, and our wrongdoings."

Luke's bitter outburst is received with silence. Then, his master straightens and brushes some dust off his robes.

"Walk with me, Luke."

"But there –"

"Come on. Do you have other plans?"

Sighting, Luke obeys.

* * *

They walk.

* * *

Tatoo II dips towards the horizon, adding to her twin sister's golden light. The breathing desert merges into the sky at the horizon; fiery, beautiful. The sand under his feet burns through the soles of his boots as if alive. It sticks to him, refusing to let go. More than once Luke stumbles, catching himself again and again.

This was easier in the past, he thinks, grimly.

Of course, it does not help that Obi-Wan seems to glide along the dunes as if his feet do not touch the ground. His old master's image is young and athletic, his red-blond hair without any stripes of grey. Force apparitions, apparently, can choose their own appearance. Something more to contemplate: why here, and why this way? Is he trying to tell Luke something? And if so, why not straight out? Luke is old and weary, and very, very tired. He is also very, very fed up with the Jedi and their mystic mumbo-jumbo; his patience is stretched to the breaking point. He has seen so much, lived through so much: why can't they just leave him alone?

If this is a Force vision, he has had nicer nightmares.

* * *

They walk.

* * *

Luke is pretty sure they are going in circles.

"Master…"

Obi-Wan does not react.

"Master!"

A sigh, like an old man suffering the impatience of a younger one. The appearance is terribly distorted by the fact that the dead Jedi Master looks easily forty years younger than Luke.

"Yes, Luke?"

"Is there any point to this?"

"What do you think?"

Luke thinks that the Jedi should go to hell, really.

"That's not very nice," Obi-Wan chides, like a mother chiding her child for not sharing his sweet kumquats.

"Nice?" Luke explodes. " _Nice?_ Look at the Jedi's history over the past centuries. Is there anything in it you would label as _nice_?!"

"That's a very existential question."

Suddenly, Luke has _enough_. He drops into the sand, heavily. "You know what, Master? Go away. There's no point to this, anyway. I won't teach her. I should never have touched the Force again. Stop bugging me in my sleep or whatever. You can't help me anymore. I doubt you ever could."

Silence answers.

When he turns his head, against his own will, the apparition is gone.

* * *

How long has the sun been setting, now?

He could swear he has been sitting there for an eternity, or, at least, for a few hours. But though the chilling temperature drop looms in the air like a promise, though both Tatoo I and II hover over the horizon, casting their dying embers onto the endless vastness of the Dune Sea - night does not fall.

He has time.

Time in visions rarely overlaps with actual time, and it is not like there is anything he needs to do. Ahch-To is an island apart from everything, it seems, and time is part of that very everything.

(Or is it?)

He sighs, disgustedly.

Just sitting in the hot desert sand will not end this vision-nightmare, will it?

Luke stands, brushes away sand and wishes he could slice something up with the light saber (which, _of course,_ hangs from his belt with a weight so familiar he never even noticed) and continues walking.

* * *

The sunset blazes.

It reminds him of so many others he has seen in his lifetime.

Of the people he has seen them with.

* * *

He still is stumbling along when a thought occurs to him that should have come to him much earlier already: what is the Force's intention in sending him here?

He decides he is too annoyed to deal with it right now.

* * *

"Denial never was a character trait you possessed, in the past."

Obi-Wan.

"Go away."

"As you wish."

* * *

There is nothing around him than the wind in the dunes, the whisper of the sand.

The caleidoscope of not-silence, so different from the sounds of Ahch-To, is…

He refuses to use the description, struggles to find another word. But there is no other. The silence of Tatooine, broken by wind and sand and invisible life, is _soothing_. He is not really surprised by the revelation, and is. And knows, at the same time, that he should not be.

The Force is everything, is it not?

 _(Sarcasm does not suit you, Luke_ , Leia whispers in his mind and Luke thinks, with a lifetime of resentfulness and regret and longing: _What do you know about me, Leia?_ _)_

* * *

Leia never assumed.

He knows, and he _knows_ , too, and - and yet. Leia always _knew_ , same as he _knew_. It always was a blessing and a curse, a life line and a burden. Luke resents his twin, and loves her more than anything. And all of this has not changed, no matter what he has tried.

It is the core of their lifes, a black stain on his heart. It might or might not be the root of everything they are living right now. But that is not the whole truth, either. Luke loves his sister, and he failed her. Luke loves the galaxy, and he failed to protect it. Luke loves Han and Ben and Mara, and hazard a guess as to what he did? Luke failed everyone and everything he has ever sworn to protect, and there is nothing he can do to ever make it up to them.

 _What is it that you seek, wanderer?_

The voice has no body. In fact, Luke is pretty sure there is no voice, and that he is just imagining the soft echo of a whisper. A voiceless song, unheard.

And besides, he stopped seeking long ago, did he not?

Still, something within him, deeply buried, raises its head.

 _Atonement._

* * *

It makes him laugh.

* * *

"Luke-"

"I said, _go away."_

* * *

Thinking of nothing is not particularly easy.

It is like focusing on the Force only, and finding that there is an itch at the nose, and that one is wondering whether the stove is turned off, or whether the pattern of the marble floor tiles looks like a bantha or a Mon Calamari.

He tries it, nevertheless. Going anywhere is impossible, so he tries going nowhere –

* * *

Tatooine was his home, once. A moisture farm and an aunt and an uncle, and a group of friends sharing one single, desperate dream. And despite everything, it had been a place he had loved.

He never really returned.

He should have. Should have spent some more time here; maybe rebuilt his uncle's moisture farm, maybe just lived in the Wastes, as Obi-Wan had done. Maybe it would have prevented him from running headfirst and blindly into his many mistakes. Maybe it would have saved just _some_ of the few people who have had the misfortune of being carried along in the wake of Luke Skywalker, hero of the Rebellion. He had thought, for so long, that, since they had won the war with the Empire, they would be able to take on everything and anything. How stupid that had been, how arrogant.

What would Leia think, seeing him like this now?

Leia. His wonderful, beautiful sister. So strong in the Force, so determined, so calm. She always had enough hope for the two of them. Meeting her and getting to know her was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

 _(And this is the root of the root, the tree of the tree, the sky of the sky of his deepest secret that he can deny but never forget: it is the unshakable truth.)_

And then, Ben.

What must Han have felt, dying by his beloved son's hands? He had told Luke, ever so often. _The Force can't be everything._ Luke had disagreed, then. He is not so sure he was right about it, back then.

If night never falls in this world, will he never be able to fall asleep?

Does that mean he won't be plagued by nightmares anymore? What if this is one single, never-ending nightmare? Will he be able to wake? Is the Force trying to tell him something? But if he does not believe in the Force the way he used to do, will he be able to escape this vision?

What is she trying to tell him?

Why, in the entire history of his life, have people tried to make him do thinks, say things and feel things he never knew whether or not he wanted to do, say or feel himself?

* * *

"You're awfully quiet."

He actually starts. "Bantha-shit!"

"Tut, tut." Obi-Wan actually makes a disapproving sound. "Language, Luke."

"Why are you even still here?"

"I'm waiting. Why, why are you here?"

Luke drops his head into his hands, fracturing. "Don't think I want to be. But you never cared about that, did you? None of you ever cared about what I wanted."

"Oh, Luke." Obi-Wan is sitting next to him and leans back, shades his eyes to gaze at the horizon. "We placed it all on your shoulders. I am sorry."

The easy, sincere apology – for something that has weighted down on him so heavily, had him rage and scream and grieve for such a long time, for his entire _life_ – makes him even _angrier_.

"Stop that, _Master._ I made mistakes. I failed. Leia. _Ben –_ Don't pretend you know what I am going through–" Halfway through his sentence, he realizes; stops, shame-faced. "Oh."

Obi-Wan, still a young man, eyes dark and face wistful, regards him. There is no anger or accusation in his features.

"Do you think you failed us, Luke?"

"No." He lowers his head, frozen. "Yes. Maybe."

"You are right. You failed him. Your student."

Luke's head whips up, astonished, angry, desperate. "I gave my best! I wanted to train him right! Ben was like a son to me. I – I _loved_ him!"

Obi-Wan's eyes are clear, and dark.

"You suffered one moment of darkness, which led to everything that is today."

"Yes. One moment! The girl was right; _I_ created Kylo Ren. I betrayed Ben, and sealed his fate. Everything that happened from there on. It _is_ my fault. All of it is."

"Quite arrogant, aren't you."

" _What_?"

"Don't you think Ben Solo had some of his own decisions to make in the process of his development?"

"Yes, of course, but –"

"Snoke had been in his head for years. The New Republic was falling to pieces, the Loyalists were corrupt and power-hungry, the Centrists too weak, the people soft and malleable from times of peace. A spark on dry tinder, and you create a fire."

Luke reels. "But..."

Obi-Wan sighs. "Luke. Anakin fell because I wasn't there for him. But there were a lot of other things that came together. Am I the reason your father turned to the Dark Side? I am one, for sure. But I am not the only one, and perhaps not even the greatest. I might have been able to stop him, but I could not. Maybe you could have prevented Ben's fall. But to think that you are the only reason, the one to take all the blame – that does sound suspiciously arrogant, does it not?"

Luke stares, gaping. Shakes his head. Tries.

"That…" Shakes his head some more. "That is stupid."

"Is it really?" There is no ounce of doubt in Obi-Wan's face. "I am sure Snoke had a lot of influence on him. But he made his decisions, too. Kylo Ren decided on being what he is. He was pushed, yes. Perhaps he was desperate, felt betrayed. But ultimately? It was his decision. He had parents who loved him very much. He had an uncle and a teacher, friends, a place, a purpose. Why did he turn?"

That, incidentally, is a question Luke has been asking himself since he stared into his nephew's eyes over their crossed light sabers, trying to comprehend, trying to –

Atone.

Atonement.

Is this what it is?

"Leia forgave me. She would have forgiven him. Until the end, she believed he would return, one day."

Obi-Wan smiles. "Both of you carry a lot of your mother. She was strong. She never lost hope. She forgave easily, too."

"She couldn't save my father."

"I couldn't, either."

Luke presses his lips together, feels his nails bite into the palms of his hand. "This is stupid. Why am I here? What is the purpose of this?"

Obi-Wan chuckled, quietly. "You still don't see?"

"If you think a simple conversation will just change my mind, if this is supposed to be some kind of instant forgiveness when I've had years and years in exile to realize my mistakes and my shortcomings and know _exactly_ how heavy they are –"

"I see. Well, who am I to think I could make you understand so easily."

Luke realizes too late what his teacher's words imply. "Wait! Obi-Wan –"

But the Force apparition is gone.

* * *

The suns are still setting.

This is getting old, Luke thinks, tiredly, his heart sore and bleeding. What else is there left for him?

He closes his eyes and - for the first time in years, for the first time in what feels _forever_ \- focuses on the Force that swirls through his entire being. Goes beyond the first, tentative contact that showed him glimpses of Leia, pale and barely alive. Goes beyond -

 _Instant reaction._

The Force reaches back, joyful, familiar. _Alive._ Colors, sounds, warmth, like a familiar, beloved item of clothing, like a favorite meal, like laying one's head down to rest on one's own bed. Like seeing the sight of a beloved person's face after years. Like a friend, like a lover, like a guide and a guardian and a parent.

Like he never forsook it in the first place.

Almost a decade, and he can still feel it so vividly.

* * *

What if Obi-Wan's words are true?

* * *

"Master Skywalker."

She is there, quite suddenly, and _Stang_ , should he not be used to this by now? Damn this desert, damn this vision. It is her, same as he has last seen her and so different.

 _Rey._

Her eyes are wide, her face open, she is as surprised as he is. Maybe even more.

"What is this? How did I get here? How _are_ _you here?_ "

Luke stretches his Force awareness outwards, extends it away from himself carefully and softly, trying to grasp a sense of her surroundings. It is swirling with colors, alive and warm. The Force welcomes him in a way he never felt before and he almost gasps with surprise at the new sensation. Retreats again, quickly. Pushes the question back into the depths of his mind.

"You are having a vision." One answer, he supposes, is as well as any.

The girl stands. Her body is shimmering, pale, much like Obi-Wan's was before. This has never happened before. Is he sharing a vision with her? Is he dreaming of her, or the other way round?

"I was restless. Leia suggested I meditate."

Luke almost laughs. Until he was able to focus enough to actually have visions, Yoda put him through grueling training. This girl barely knows about the Force, and she is already comprehending it more deeply than many others ever will.

"Well, now you're here." He leans back. Ruthlessly suppresses the question that grows in his chest, almost painful.

"Is it really you?" The girl asks, something between awe and mistrust in her voice. "You..."

"I?" He asks back, frowning. And adds, when he sees her furtive glance; "If you poke me, I'll make sure you won't be able to ask silly questions for quite some time."

The girl pulls her hand back guiltily. "Alright, it _is_ you."

It surprises him, to say the least. After what he has done – after how he behaved towards her – she should not be so carefree in his presence. But here she is, wandering around in the light of the dying twin suns, tasting the sand, checking the breeze, shading her eyes to look past him and into the distance.

"Not Jakku," she says softly, as if to herself.

"Tatooine." Luke surprises himself by answering.

"Tatooine?" She echoes, bewildered.

"Outer Rim. Almost as Nowhere as Jakku."

She is placated by that, though he can see her filing away the name for later, to look it up, or maybe to ask Chewie. "And why are we here?"

"How would I know why you're here?" He is forgoing part of her question with that, but he thinks she probably will not care. Or notice. Yoda liked to play these kinds of games.

Yoda.

 _Still always looking towards the horizon, Young Skywalker._

Luke frowns. When did Yoda say that?

"Why Tatooine?" Spoken with her soft accent, the pronounciation sounds almost _right._ Luke shivers lightly, and pushes the thought away.

"Why would I know-"

"Alright, alright," she concedes. "What connection do you have to this planet?"

"I grew up here."

"Oh." She thinks the information over. "But Leia didn't, did she?"

"No."

"Hm."

Again, she mulls over his words. "Do you think of this planet as your home?"

"Not particularly."

"But it is important to you."

"Give me one reason why I should keep answering your nosy questions."

She considers this, interestingly, longer than she considered his earlier replies. "Because you want to talk to someone," she finally says. "Because you spent years on Ahch-To without talking to anyone, all by yourself. Because…"

She is going to say something he will detest, for sure, he knows as sure as he knows the insides of his mechanic hand.

"Because you are lonely."

Instead of fanning the glowing embers of his anger, it hits him with the force of a blaster cannon: how _right_ she is. How he has craved the presence of other people during his exile. How he would have given his other hand, on some days, to just talk to another living being aside from the guardians, who rarely spoke to him in their misguided reverence. How, cut off not only from his sister and family, but from the Force, he has turned into something he had always despised: an empty, vicious and angry old man.

How is it that this painfully young girl has understood so perfectly well what he has spent years to hide and deny?

"What do you want, kid?"

This time, her answer comes quickly, as if this is not the first time someone has asked her this question, and not the first time she has answered alike. "I need someone to show me my place in all this."

It goes through him like a stab wound, and disappears again before he can hold on to it.

Luke looks at the frozen sunset. _Just like you are, apparently._ Rey beside him moves, impatiently, and then visibly pulls herself together and resigns herself to his silence. Once she does, he lets her calm her breathing for a few moments, and then speaks.

"Is this really that important to you? The galaxy does not appreciate martyrs, you know. It doesn't care at all."

Her eyes blaze suddenly as she whirls to face him. "Are you joking? We are at the brink of a full-out war. There were 400 resistance members that made it into orbit when the First Order attacked. Now we're barely fifty people left. Ben turned away again. Leia, Poe and Finn are working so hard to keep all of us together. _Everyone_ is working hard, doing his best! Every single being! And you are sitting here, a ghost or Force apparition or vision or whatever, and I am talking to you even though I felt you _die_ , and same as before, you are still not doing anything but hiding away behind your guilt and shame! Did you think removing yourself from the grand picture would change anything? You were wrong. What kind of adult are you, hiding away from the consequences of your mistakes, believing everything will turn out well if you just close your eyes and pretend it never happened? I mean, I get it, you could not save Ben. But still, sitting here won't bring him back. Maybe he could have come back if you hadn't abandoned him completely after trying to kill him! _Stang_! Why am I even wasting my breath?"

Silence.

Luke sits there, stunned, and _remembers_.

* * *

A binary sunset.

Purpose, and peace.

 _I am sorry, Ben. I am so sorry, Leia._

 _Rey._

* * *

Rey is breathing hard, clenching her fists, blinking at him like she is blinking away tears. Almost instinctively, he lifts his hand, rests it on her head. She looks down now, and maybe she is crying, and maybe not. Her voice is a whisper.

"You are already dead."

 _I am sorry, too. I am leaving you when you need me most._

"Nobody who is one with the Force is ever truly gone," Luke says, gently, and everything comes back.

* * *

The twin suns blaze at the horizon.

When he died, he remembers, the horizon was as beautiful as this one. A sunset, a sunrise. Fire and gold.

They sit, side by side, peacefully.

* * *

"Why do you think the Jedi should die?" Rey asks, quietly. Her fingers are sifting through the sand, as if she needs the reminder of something tangible, something _real_ , in her ever-shifting world. Luke cannot fault her.

He sighs. "It's not easy to boil it down."

"Please?"

 _I might be able to understand more than you think I do,_ her eyes say. _I am wiser than you think I am. I can take it. I can take them._ Her eyes have their own language, and both they are and she is utterly and entirely wrong. Rey understands, on an instinctual level he can only envy, more than she ever might think she does; more than anyone ever might give her credit for.

But some things need to be lived.

Does not mean he cannot try, though, does it?

"The Sith are representatives of the Dark Side of the Force, right?" The girl nods. "And Jedi of the Light Side?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever encountered something that is only good? Or only evil?"

She thinks a bit. "No," she says, eventually. "Animals take care of their brood, and they kill others to survive. Anger fuels hatred, but it also can be the strength I need to fight evil. There is no Light without Dark. It is everywhere. _Balance._ Ben did not kill Leia, when he attacked the _Radduz._ But he did kill Han. He fought for me, and then against me. He stayed, and then he left."

Something laces her voice, heavy and heart-shattering. Luke thinks this time it is grief, for sure, and unshed tears. Why – _oh. Yes._ Well. Best distract her from that certain example, then.

 _(Is that softheartedness I sense, Skywalker?)_

"The First Jedi built their houses over the tide pool, which is a Dark Force nexus. Something similar happened with the Jedi Temple on Coruscant."

"It's like when there is light, there is darkness."

"There is no darkness without light, and no light without something dark to perceive it."

"Is that it? We are all light and dark?"

Luke closes his eyes. "Maybe. I don't know. It's a fact. And I know the Force doesn't care about Sith and Jedi. It's all about…"

"…Balance," she finishes. "Master Skywalker." Her face is so sure, so determined. Her faith is like a warm blanket in the Force, warm and familiar, covering her and him and warming him. Soft and heavy, and it smells like home.

"Teach me. _Please._ "

* * *

Not a nightmare.

Not a vision.

Afterlife, perhaps? Suddenly, he wishes Obi-Wan was there. His master has been dead some time, and one with the Force, he supposes. He should have told Luke. He could have explained.

Oh, right. Luke had to argue with him and chase him away.

The suns are still setting. It is warm, but not hot, almost comfortable. The sand under his legs and hands is soft and warm and smells like the Dune Sea. The flash of memory comes unbidden, unexpected: Aunt Beru at the stove, preparing dinner, and Uncle Owen's voice coming from outside, greeting his family after a day out at the regenerators. The scent of dust crêpes in the air, familiar and welcome, the sensation of _home…_

The wind sounds like a lullaby.

He had always wanted to show Leia where he had grown up. But after she had lost her own home so utterly and completely it had felt wrong, like bragging about something he possessed and what she had been forced to endure the loss of.

On their honeymoon, Han had taken Leia to the most exotic locations they could imagine; so she could decide for herself which planet she liked most and might want to settle on, once they retired, together. Anyway, that had been the plan. Han was dead, Ben was lost and Leia was on the run, abandoned by the Resistance and with only a handful of fighters by her side.

But she has people like Rey, this lost, found, strong-weak girl. And Leia always had a knack for finding the right people. Luke might have lost his faith in everything and everyone, but not in Leia.

Never in Leia.

The spark will live. Suddenly, Luke is _sure_ of it.

And this is the only thing left he can do.

* * *

"Okay."

"Oh." She expected to need to fight harder. "So…"

"So?" He prompts.

"So… You're dead. How does this work? I just meditate?" And, as an afterthought: "I don't have to die, do I?"

That… almost makes him smile.

"I'll find you."

"Great." She thinks about that. Shrugs, frowns. "I think."

The last thing he sees as she fades away: Rey's expression, a mix of relief and gratitude and apprehension.

And Luke finds he is … almost… looking forward to their lessons.

* * *

Leia had told him, had she not, that he would find teaching to be his calling?

What would Leia say if she saw him now?

She had smiled at his sight. Had welcomed him back. Luke is not so sure he would have found the strength to do the same, had their roles been reversed.

She had always been the stronger one among the two of them.

She had grown up fighting, while Luke had only learned it. She had learned to believe despite the darkness, while he had done it, instinctively, and then shied away when he needed it most. She had, until the end, believed that Ben would return. Luke knew, despite doubts and hesitations, despite the time and the space that had separated them for all those years, had always known with iron certainty: Leia would never give up.

He, on the other hand?

He had given up. Had caved.

Shattered.

He had been living on his own stubbornness, on his own belief in the Force, for too long. How often had he said the words? _May the Force be with you._ He had believed them, he had _lived_ them. And then his nephew had come along, put into his hands by his best friend who was doubtful but who trusted him, nevertheless. And by his beloved sister, who, above all, had trusted him when he had not even known how to trust himself. And Luke had gone all out. He had pulled all the stops, selecting a few students, building a temple to teach and train them. And he had been so full of himself – so blind, so stupid – that he had _forgotten_.

That failure was the best teacher.

He should have taught his students to trust in their instincts, and to learn from their mistakes. He had been so arrogant to believe that he could pass on only his good experiences, his rewarded efforts and successful teachings.

Of course Snoke had been able to target Ben since Luke had neglected to teach him how to stumble and fall, and how to get up again after that.

That was why he had broken, had exiled himself and had cut himself off from the Force: because the shame and the burden had been too much to bear. Because he had not been able to look at his sister and friend, day after day, and to face his own failures. How was he – how was anyone – supposed to do better if they could not learn from his mistakes because he himself denied them?

 _Stupid._

Careless, too, heartbreaking. It had cost him so much. It had cost all of them too much: Leia, because she had lost everyone and everything. Han. Rey, too, growing up without knowing about her heritage, without learning about the gift that was an integral part of her.

Leia had always been the one to believe in him. And Rey had reminded him that giving up was as good as being dead.

* * *

Oh, apropos.

He is dead.

He _died_.

Luke Skywalker finally kicked the bucket.

He is sure about that. He felt it, he _knows_ it. Why has the Force placed him here, has torn him out of his peaceful oblivion and forced him to live through all his doubts and fears again?

* * *

 _Sometimes,_ a voice says that he does not recognize. It is kind, though, and strangely familiar. _Sometimes we just need a different point of view to understand what has been before our eyes all our life._

* * *

They are kidding him, right?

* * *

This time, when Obi-Wan comes, Luke is ready for him.

"I did accept, in the end. I died with peace in my heart. Why this farce?"

Obi-Wan – young, weathered, smiling, and yet still the same steady, ageless presence in the Force that a young Luke Skywalker encountered out in the desert of the Jundland Wastes, all these years ago – smiles softly.

"Do you think it's a farce?"

Luke sighs. But now it iss not desperation anymore, or annoyance. Just… acceptance, maybe?

"No, of course not."

"Do you understand now, Luke?"

He thinks about it. Does he understand? "Not really."

"I'll tell you a secret. I don't really, either."

"You are one with the Force," Luke points out. "Shouldn't you understand?"

"So are you, but well. Maybe it's an integral part of the Force?"

"What? Ignorance?"

"Oh, Luke." Obi-Wan laughs. "I missed you. No, of course not. Acceptance."

"That…" He thinks for a while. "That sounds like illogical reasoning to me. Like those species that believe in a greater deity, and if they encounter anything they don't understand or can't comprehend, say that it's their gods' doing, be it simply a law of nature or even coincidence."

"Does it?" Obi-Wan brushes some sand off his tunic. "What else are we, the Jedi, if not believers in a mystical Force that surrounds us, guides us and protects us? Well, anyway. You have all the time in the universe to think about it, now."

Luke sighs. "I guess." He opens his mouth again, closes it. Thinks about it again. "Master…"

"Yes?" There is kindness in his voice, and understanding. Luke knows that, even if Obi-Wan was suggestive and misleading when they first met, he cares. He truly does. About Luke, about Leia. About Ben.

Still, Luke hesitates.

Obi-Wan is still looking out over the desert. "Your father hated this planet," he says, softly. "And he had every reason. She is not kind, Tatooine. Harsh, and unforgiving. But always…" He stops, as if catching himself. "Always constant," he finally finishes, and Luke thinks there was something he wanted to say, and did not, in the end. But that is fine with him. They have time now, after all. It also gives him the strength to ask his question.

"Master. The Jedi, and the Sith. Were we right about them? About the Dark Side needing to be eliminated? Because…" He clears his throat. "Because that's essentially fearing it, isn't it? And fear leads to the Dark Side."

Obi-Wan regards him with dark eyes, waiting for him to go on.

"I still don't know much about the old Jedi. But if there is balance, between everyone and everything, how can abolishing the darkness in us be the right thing to do? Jedi were taught that there is no passion, no fear, no anger. But those emotions belong to life, ultimately, and the Force is a living thing. How can we banish something that is part of it? And, besides. Love gives us strength. Fear makes us cautious. Anger makes us just. At the same time, too much detachedness is dangerous, too much patience is hindering. How can any being be only dark, or only light?"

His master does not answer. But his smile is brilliant, and his hand, on Luke's shoulder, is warm and heavy. "I'm proud of you, Luke. You learned to see."

There are sudden tears burning behind his eyes, but he blinks them away. "That's not an answer, Master."

"I promise you, I will answer these questions of yours. Tomorrow."

"Is there a tomorrow, here?"

"Of course there is. What would the Force be without a tomorrow?" Obi-Wan smiles, shades his eyes with his hand and looks out into the desert. "Tell me, student mine, how about the girl? Will she be alright?"

"I…" Luke hesitates. Remembers Rey: so strong, so young. So unsure and, at the same time, so hopeful. So trusting. _The spark that will light the fire._ "Once, they called me the hope of the galaxy. I think…"

Obi-Wan's eyes are smiling, and Luke feels a smile tilt the corners of his lips, too, reluctantly and small. But it is a smile, nevertheless.

"I think she will be a better student than I ever was."

There is a flash at the periphery of his vision, blinding, beautiful, and the binary suns of Tatooine sink beyond the horizon.

Obi-Wan smiles. "What are you going to do now?"

* * *

Luke Skywalker died.

But in the Force, he can still feel his sister, his new student. His nephew. He can feel the life, around him, the staggering sensation of _balance._ The colorful future, light and dark intermixing at the edges. It takes his breath away: for the first time in nearly a decade, he is truly one with the Force. Luke looks at his hands and notices that the natural one is strong, a young man's hand, unbent, unbroken. Marred by battle scars and callouses from lightsaber training, but young, strong. When he touches his face, it is clean-shaven, his hair is short and probably will be without one single, silver strand. The smile that steals onto his features, finally, is peaceful.

"I suppose I will teach her. And learn."

* * *

Night falls over the desert like a blanket, familiar and soft.


End file.
